


Call and Response

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-06
Updated: 2005-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: a ficlet to answer RC McLachlan's "Like Sparkling Wine".  it ended up being more of an answer than I'd intended.Justin remembers, and Brian is there.





	Call and Response

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Justin lives in a third floor walkup over a bodega in the East Village. And not a "bodega", a small storefront with market goods, but the straight-out-of-Half Baked kind of bodega, with expired boxes of Kraft Dinner and more than likely an assault rifle under the counter. Brian would know, he'd been to more than one bodega like that on summer visits to Vic in high school. It's the last place Brian wants Justin to live, which is likely exactly why Justin lives there.

Brian stares out the window at the snow beginning to fall on Alphabet City and doesn't regret not coming to New York, doesn't apologise for sending Justin here to make his way. He's thinking about the things he doesn't regret and doesn't apologise for when his cel phone rings.

"You only gave me five bucks for cigarettes, Brian, you know they're eight in New York."

He does know. He does it to remind himself and Justin why he isn't here. He does it every time he sends Justin out for smokes.

And it's not the money.

Justin is rattling on about his terrible nicotine habit (which he has as well) and how he isn't going to pay for it (but clearly he already has) and Brian can just fork over the other three dollars as soon as Justin walks his perfect ass back into the apartment (and he will if Justin puts his hand out), but Brian doesn't hear it, not each individual word, just the stream of Justin into his ear and settling that once dormant part of his brain.

"I'm just down the block, I'll be home in just a sec."

Brian flips the phone shut and watches out the window, waits for the navy toque and black wool coat and armful of brown paper bag, waits for Justin to get home. He smiles when the expected comes into view, dusted and sparkling under a different streetlamp. Justin stops suddenly, as if walking into an invisible force field, and his arms tighten a little bit around the groceries, and he just stands still, as if he isn't there at all. Brian quirks an eyebrow, grabs his keys, and pounds down the stairs.

"What the fuck are you doing out here? It's starting to snow. If I have to sit in the hospital all night while they amputate your frost-bitten ass, I'm going to be beyond pissed."

Justin smiles at him, and it's the thousand watt mega beam, the one reserved for special occasions, the one Brian's seen approximately eight times since he came out of the coma and forgot what sunshine was. By the time Brian'd reached the building entrance, Justin'd already set down the groceries and now is holding his arms out with his eyes. Brian avoids kicking over the wine and salad greens, and when Justin whispers, "Dance with me, Brian," he does. He sweeps him around in circles and feels tanned under Justin's grin.

He smirks when Justin slips the pack of twenty into his pocket, steps back, and holds his hand out.

"Who the fuck pays eight bucks for a pack of cigarettes?"

"Not you, asshole, apparently you only pay five."


End file.
